of scrooges and christmas sweaters
by sleepless-royalty
Summary: In which Lucy's a bit of a Scrooge, and Natsu fixes it all with a tacky Christmas sweater.—nalu fluff. canonverse.


Sometimes Lucy forgot that this day even marked a holiday.

Call her oblivious, stupid, and blind, but honestly that was the case. It wasn't simply because she was some "dumb blonde." On the contrary, her intended goal was usually to get rid of the memory of the nasty holiday. She wasn't some Scrooge, however, for she greatly appreciated a feel-good, family romcom every now and then, but the holiday itself held bad memories for her. It was as though it were the anniversary for all things wrong in Lucy Heartfilia's life.

And because of that ever-so-pleasant and unfortunately true statement, Lucy Heartfilia had begun to despise the holiday with all of her might.

Memories traced back to even before her mother got sick were what led to this rather cliche hatred. Her mother herself hadn't been fond of the holiday, smiling in polite disdain at the decorations the servants put up. But the lady was not one to put down others' joy, so she allowed it to happen. When her father was a kinder man, he would entertain his wife with songs and teasing, that led to giggling on the woman's part and small, melancholy smiles on their daughter's part - who put it upon herself to become an outsider to this ritual, instead opting to help decorate with the servants and listen aptly to what stories they had to tell.

From the moment the girl was disregarded by her mother in favor of her clearcut dislike of the holiday, she began to resent it - as though it were the cause for all her troubles.

(And, perhaps, it was.)

It didn't help that the day they received word her mother was sick was two days before the dreaded holiday, thus ruining the festivities kind ol' Miss Spetto and the servants had planned, and the day of cheer for all who resided in the Heartfilia Estate. Not that Lucy minded in the least. How could such a stupid holiday ever in being to compare to the days when her mother was healthy?

So the holiday's already shaky relationship with the young girl's heart was shattered, replaced by grief and worry and tears and sadness. The pure, unadulterated sadness that had the girl's shoulders shaking and eyes watering and mouth trembling.

Never would she ever forget the fear that overtook her when she saw her mother, life draining from the woman before her very eyes, look up and whisper not "I love you," but a far more sinister three words that shook the child to her very core.

"I hate Christmas."

Once again placed second to the distaste her mother held for the abysmal holiday, the girl's heart shriveled and shuddered, starving for a mother's love that only swelled during the warmer months and was left to rot when the snow began to fall and carolers began to sing joyous lies of family, hearth, and celebration.

.

.

.

The holiday only went downhill from there, for in a few months time her mother finally laid to rest - on sickeningly warm time on an ironically and unwelcomingly warm day.

(The summer breeze and disgustingly blue skies only clashed with the bitterness sweeping through Lucy's person and out into the repulsively fresh air.)

Her father gradually grew colder - no more love to give on any day of the year, let alone Christmas. The void filled with endless amounts of money (more, more, more, his greedy eyes seemed to call), and trinkets and toys seemed to be good enough compensation for the love that he kept to himself and lost somewhere along the way.

(Perhaps, Lucy lost it herself.)

Christmas was quiet - no more stories and decorations. No more laughing servants and giggling mother. There was nothing. There was to be nothing. There had never been anything.

Click-clack, clip-clop.

Men in horse-drawn carriages - far too haughty to drive in regular cars, and far too dry to possess the magic necessary to in the first place - arrived one by one. A year after Layla Heartfilia's death and for years to follow. Boys in suits and men dressed in the same came knocking. Soon, Christmas gatherings were excuses for suitors to line up at the young heiress' large, French double doors.

One Christmas day, dressed in a long pink gown and wearing a smile as disdainful as her mother's, a fifteen year old Lucy Heartfilia quipped to the youngest of her suitors offhandedly and coldly, "I hate Christmas."

The old man laughed, as though the phrase were too vulgar to have escaped such a fine lady's mouth, pressing a fat, pampered, white finger to his lips.

"Ladies are not to say such opinionative things such as that."

(It was then Lucy decided, that she really, truly, utterly despised Christmas.)

.

.

.

It only made sense that Lucy completely, utterly, totally forgot about the dreadful little holiday that befell upon the unlucky day of December 25th.

"Lucy!" Mira proclaimed happily when the blonde walked in. "I'm so glad you're here! You're just in time! Help me set the tables, please."

Lucy wordlessly grabbed sets of silverware and tablecloth, throwing them on tables in a surprisingly neat fashion.

Mira smiled.

"So what's the occasion, Mira?" Lucy asked, casually nitpicking at the centerpieces on the table that Mira had so carefully crafted.

The barmaid froze, metallic plates (magic, weapon, ice, and fire-proofed by a spell created by the takeover mage for occasions where brawls were sure to occur) clattering to the ground.

"Uh…Mira?" Lucy asked hesitantly. "What's wrong?"

The white-haired girl stared at the blonde in shock. She approached the girl slowly, as though she were a mental patient that needed to be talked to and treated carefully lest she explode into a fit of screaming that could rival a banshee.

"…Mira?" Lucy inquired fearfully, sweat beginning to dribble down her neck.

The older girl still said nothing, placing her hands slowly on the younger girl's shoulders.

"Lucy," Mira said gravely.

"…Yes?" Lucy responded hesitantly.

"IT'S _CHRISTMAS_!" Mirajane screamed, shaking the girl back and forth frantically in shock. "HOW COULD YOU FORGET SUCH AN IMPORTANT HOLIDAY IN THE HISTORY OF EVER?"

Lucy scooched backward, smiling nervously, "Haha…yay…"

Mira got all up in her face at that, "How. Are you. Not. _EXCITED_?"

It took all of Lucy's willpower to not start to hyperventilate.

Lisanna chose that point in time to walk in, arms full of ingredients that were piling up and falling off for every breath she took.

"Mira, I think you're scaring her," Lisanna said, chuckling slightly.

"Oh," Mira pulled away from the awkward position, embarrassed. "Sorry, Lucy."

Mira paused, glancing around her person, "Where'd she go?"

Lisanna froze, "I'm not quite sure."

.

.

.

Lucy sighed in relief, shutting the door gently and sliding down it in silent horror.

 _It's Christmas? I hadn't even realized…_

"Merry Christmas, Lushi!"

Lucy yelped, clawing at the surprise-but-not-really visitors clad in horrifying reds and greens, holding gifts within their hands (and paws) and bright smiles stretching at their faces.

"Natsu?" Lucy covered her eyes with a single, exasperated hand. "Happy?"

The girl could physically feel Happy deflate, wings disappearing and dropping to the floor in a ephemeral depression.

"Lushi's a meanie…"

Lucy didn't even dignify that with an answer.

She heard Natsu shift, kneeling down in front of her so she could feel his body heat, not unlike a furnace, warming her cold cheeks. He placed a hand on her head, a simple gesture that surprisingly comforted her greatly. Her fingers twitched, and she gathered enough courage to glance up at him. His warm onyx irises met her brown ones.

A warm feeling spread from her cheeks to her toes.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Without warning, tears flooded her expressive eyes and she nearly tackled the boy, sobbing into his arms. He wrapped his arms around her, surprised but not hesitant, and squeezed her tightly. She was a sobbing mess, flaxen hair getting into her mouth as she coughed and wailed. Her tears (and a bit of saliva she would never admit to) wet his gaudy "happy holidays" sweater (that Mira, bless her heart, so obviously put a lot of effort into). She was curled up, hugging him tightly for no good reason and crying almost as hard as after the Phantom Lord attack. They were on the floor, in a somewhat compromising position, but she could care less, and so could he.

After a few minutes of Natsu stroking her hair in a manner that seemed all too unreal from someone as brash as him, Lucy's sobs reduced to sniffles.

"S-sorry," she sniffled, sitting up and blushing. "I didn't mean to get all…"

"Weird?" Natsu offered with a grin, imitating her actions and scratching the back of his neck to distract from the red of his ears.

Lucy shook her head, laughing at his typical answer, "Yeah. I guess. Weird."

"Hear that, Happy?" Natsu hollered suddenly, startling the blonde into jumping up from her spot on his lap. "She finally admits she's a weir - OOMPFH!"

The collision from when the girl landed on his lap again caused the wind to be knocked out of his. His features exaggerated comically, and she couldn't help but beam at the sight. She collapsed into a fit of giggles, rolling off of his body and ending up next to him. He laughed with her, face turning as red as hers from laughing so hard.

The laughter eventually died down, and she had to restrain herself from hiccupping.

"W-why were we laughing?" Natsu chortled lightly.

"You just looked so silly," she stuck out her tongue. "What with that sweater and your face and all…"

"Oi!" the boy looked very much insulted. "I'll have you know that Mira worked very hard to make the best sweaters she possibly could. She even made you one!"

He pulled a tacky red sweater, almost as appalling as the one the pinkette himself was wearing, and forcefully pulled it over her head. The girl struggled, guffawing as she protested.

"N-no!" she squealed in delight, quickly getting up and trying to scurry away. "Not the sweater!"

Natsu wasn't having any of it.

He ran up to chase her around the apartment, still holding the tacky sweater open, prepared to shove it over her head. Eventually they came to the kitchen, where Lucy stumbled into a seat only to be knocked over to hit the floor when Natsu jumped on her with the sweater over her head.

"Ow," she groaned.

"You okay?" Natsu's grin was teasing.

"Shut up," she moaned.

He laughed.

Suddenly, Lucy became very aware of the position there were in. She was on the floor, thanks to the boy laying on top of her, his knees being the only support that kept him being completely sprawled over her. His nose was bumping hers, and their foreheads were touching - a gesture that Lucy found herself to be the only person to have ever been on the receiving end of.

"Can I do something to make up for it?"

The phrase itself sounded loaded with innuendos, but she knew the boy himself meant it simply in an innocent way.

She pressed their foreheads and noses closer together until their lips were practically brushing, a bold move that made her wonder what possessed her to give her the courage to do such a thing.

"Make me a Christmas dinner?"

Natsu threw back his head and laughed, "Anything for you, Luce."

Somewhere, in the background, both Lucy and Natsu ignored Happy's usual trill of, "They _liiiiiiiiiiiike_ each other."

Natsu rolled off of her, "Do you have any ingredients ready?"

Lucy's eyes were wide in disbelief, "Wait, you're seriously going to do it? What about Mira's dinner?"

Natsu rolled his eyes, as though he couldn't believe she could be so dense. He touched his forehead to hers, bumping their noses until their lips almost brushed - just like she did to him.

"Anything for you, Luce," he grinned before bounding off to collect pots and pans from the cupboards and food ingredients from the fridge, ignoring Happy's catchphrase that was positively rolling off the cat's tongue.

Lucy touched her fingers to her lips, blushing furiously and cursing the dragon slayer for causing her mind to shut down in such a way. For causing her to actually think Christmas might not be so bad after all.

She watched as his hands set to turning on the stove, despite the fact that he looked completely and utterly lost. His sweet and annoyingly him words rang throughout her mind.

"Anything for you, Luce."

Christmas this year, Lucy deduced, would be a memory she would never forget.

* * *

 **Word count: 2100**

 **I hope you enjoyed this little Christmas one-shot! I worked my butt off on it so I hope it's good enough. Constructive criticism welcome!**


End file.
